Diary of a Cat
by reedville
Summary: Sometimes you write something down because you want to believe in yourself.


Have you ever noticed how weather patterns usually complement the way you feel? If you're sad it is raining. Loneliness is prompted with the freeze of a fresh blizzard. Warm, toasty, rays of the sun reverberate feelings of comfort, love, and sense of possibility. It all seems strange to determine how you feel by such basic miracles of nature, the universe works in mysterious ways.

Lately I don't know if the weather is trying to get my attention, or give me some sort of metaphysical sign of hope, or even go as far as to remind me of how hopeless I've been lately.

All I know is that today is not sunny, today is not rainy, and thank god it is not snowing. Otherwise I would be in an even worse predicament. Today is simply overcast; an embracing gray is blanketed over where I sit, a moderate breeze is blowing all around me. I'm cold and this weather is just killing me. I can't even stand straight without my teeth chattering or my hands shaking. I am wearing gloves but damn this weather…

But let's get past all these psychological musings shall we? I mean you don't even know who I am. From what I have told you I could be anyone. A butcher, a baker, a candlestick maker…You know the rhyme right?

I guess I'll start by saying I am a cat. I'll further that by saying I'm homeless. Ok well not necessarily. I live in a cardboard box, but who in their right mind would consider that a home? A home is a place of solace, a place of protection. A box won't give me that. Elmyra gave me that, but at the cost of slavery. The two blind people gave me the same thing too, but they thought I was a dog. The accommodations were good, but being considered a different animal bothered me. It felt like a constant itching I couldn't scratch. Besides when they found out what I really was they didn't even hesitate to throw me out. I mean being a cat is such a horrible existence right? Apparently people can't stand us.

Of course the best moments are when I am kicked, literally, off someone's property. And then a day or two later I'll pass by and guess what? There will be some stray dog whimpering for a bite to eat or a place to stay and the same people who turned me away will let the dog right in!

Even better is the comfortable greetings they give them. "Aw you poor little thing! You want something to eat don't you? Well come on in and let me cook something right up!"

Do I not look poor enough? I mean I've got a hole in my ear, a bandage around my tail, and I look anorexic. Maybe if I start bleeding I could get some real attention. Would that be enough to give me food or a bed? From the looks of things I guess not, but that is the world we live in.

This all happened earlier today, that's why I am ranting and angry right now. I have been sitting is this box, my box, for the past hour just thinking and trying to get my head straight. I wanted to know why. Why all of this had to happen to me. I didn't ask for it. I could understand if I had been a jerk and this was all karma coming to rear its smirking head, but it's not. I never had a beef with anyone except for bullies…

It is funny how the only ones who know I am poor are the ones who kick me around for fun. Again life just keeps throwing stuff at me and I can't catch anything good.

I guess should tell you my name if you could even call it that. My name is Furrball and I don't even remember where that originated from. Somebody probably just gave me the moniker when I was younger and it just stuck. Everybody calls me it now and I guess to say the least I don't really mind it that much. There are worse names out there and believe me I have heard them all.

Have you figured out that I am not optimist yet? Of course why should I be with the life handed to me? I've been eating trash can lunches all my life and the only thing you can get out of that is fish bones and moldy leftovers. My stomach is still turning from the food poisoning I got last month.

I am usually not a "scaredy-cat" but…it scared me.

You really don't know fear until you're dying. My eyes became droopy and it looked like I hadn't slept in days. After a couple of days of throwing up the little food I had in me, my legs gave out. I couldn't even walk anymore. I had to literally drag myself back to my box and just lay there. Five school absences later people finally decided to start looking for me.

Or so I was told.

All I recall is waking up in a hospital bed with the beeping of a heart monitor as my only companion. The doctor said I had contracted botulism. Apparently that pizza I got from the trash wasn't exactly fresh. I wasn't even aware of how I got there or who, out of the surprising goodness of their heart, took me in for help. I wish I knew just so I could thank them or something. Of course after my treatment I was put right back into the limbo I have been complaining about.

I got discharged and then…nothing. The attention and care erased hastily from my mind.

Back to my box, back to the cold, and back to life.

Everyone says I was born a mute, but really it was my choice to stop talking. I've read there is wisdom in silence and I am sticking to it. Back when I used to talk the only replies I received were harsh and unforgiving. "Shaddup you stupid cat!" they would yell, or better yet an old shoe would blind sight me in the face.

I realized words were useless. I thought anything I had to say was unimportant. It's not like someone was there to talk back.

The only good thing in my life is that school is constant. The Looniversity changed this past year to school year round. The classrooms are warm in winter, and cool in summer, so it is like an eight hour home eighty percent of the year.

As good as that is…you can't change what people think about you. At school I rarely exist. I am a good student, I do the work, I get the good grades, yet still nobody cares.

You can tell by looking in their eyes. Somebody will bump into me by accident and all I get is a quick "sorry". As if acknowledging me would be some sort of social-based suicide.

Psssh! Suicide! I'm not going to lie; that idea has crossed my path. I mean from what I have told you, you would think I ought to.

What do I really have to live for?

Let me tell just you a couple.

I live for the summer mornings warming my fur, I live for the smell of dew on a freshly cut lawn, I live to hear the crashes of the waves against the seashore, I live to see the sunrise, I live to taste the night air, I live because there is nothing else but to.

Heh, it's funny. Now I'm grinning. I guess I could say this made me feel better. Sort of like a new beginning. Maybe when school ends I'll get out of here and be someone.

I don't know what yet…

But nowhere else to go but up right?

Exactly.


End file.
